RWBY: Out of Ashes
by Ferox the Mad
Summary: Leon Ferox: a Huntsman's son who suddenly, terrifyingly finds himself amidst the charred ruins of his life. But his soul is a fire which cannot be put out. When fate gives him a second chance in the depths of a brutal gladiator pit, he will struggle to forge a new life out of the ashes. In the face of darkness, can he gather the power he needs to make it in Remnant?
1. Nightfall

**RWBY: Out of ****Ashes**

"Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars." ― Kahlil Gibran

Chapter 1 — Nightfall

A muffled thump dragged Leon Ferox out of his dreams. He lay on the bed, eyes still groggy and only half open, and listened for the sound to return. Seconds passed, and he was beginning to believe it had just been a figment of his imagination when the sound made itself known again. _Thump_. The noise then started picking up the pace. _Thump. Thump. Thump. _Never before had he heard this sound, and as a thirteen-year-old boy who often lay outside under the brilliant light of the shattered moon, he'd believed he had heard every sound nature had to offer.

Suddenly excited at the prospect of seeing a new natural phenomenon, he threw the blankets off the bed and practically flew to the doorway. In his rush, he slammed headlong into the solid wood of the door, having forgotten it was closed. Leon never was one for elegance. Shuffling around in the dark for a few seconds, he finally found the doorknob and hurriedly turned it. It was as he stomped toward the stairway, his throbbing forehead reminding him that if he didn't slow down he would most certainly trip down the steps _again_, that he heard the clatter of breaking glass.

Leon paused mid-step, afraid that it had been his trampling around that had caused it. Daring not to make a sound, he crept to the banister and peered over, checking for the lights that would indicate his parents had heard. Nothing yet. Nervous, he began his descent. Halfway down, the lights did flick on, and with them came a very angry and surprised shout from a gruff male voice. His father. Excuses were running through his head when a horrific shriek pierced his ears, a call more primal and bloodthirsty than he could have ever imagined.

Without a single thought toward his own safety or terror, Leon charged down the rest of the stairs. As the last step was cleared, a deafening _BANG _cut through the screech and replaced it with a low, wet gargle. He dashed into the kitchen to see a mass of dark grey and white lying on the floor in a pool of red. Standing tall with his boots in the blood was his father, brandishing One-Liner_. _It was currently in its revolver form, and the barrel was smoking. The segments of sword blade were tucked away, forming the bottom half of the boxy barrel.

With closer scrutiny, Leon saw that the shape on the floor was vaguely humanoid, but with skin as grey as a storm cloud. The round from One-Liner had torn a hole through its chest and a thin red line was carved into what appeared to be its face. One-Liner's blade must have struck before the bullet. As with the rest of its body, the face resembled a human's. However, its nose was pressed in and two large fangs protruded from the mouth which hung open limply, as if it wanted to continue screeching but couldn't. The eye that hadn't been gored by the sword was as red as the blood that was splattered around the scene. And on the top of its head he saw the bony carapace, marked with malicious red runes, that was the trademark of Grimm. Quickly scanning the rest of its body, he noticed many more plates and spikes of bone situated about its body like armor. Plates rested from shoulder to shoulder and around its collarbone, as well as its kneecaps and, he thought he saw, running down the length of its spine. Spikes jutted out from the spinal plates, as well as the elbows, the plates of its head and shoulders, and just underneath the knuckles. Its fingers were slightly longer than a human's and more slender. They ended in frighteningly lethal-looking claws, about half a foot long and marked by jagged edges that made it look serrated. Oddly, he noticed that the thing had four small, bat-like wings sticking out of its upper and lower back. One more trait that was different from the other Grimm was that it had rudimentary clothing. A very shredded cloak hung around its torso and down to its waist. A loincloth, thankfully intact, covered the area just beneath the cloak.

Leon was very familiar with the soulless creatures of Grimm, his father being a Huntsman and all. Father had an entire trophy room full of mounted heads and even stuffed bodies frozen in ferocious stances. Many times his father had even taken Leon with him on small hunts, much to the chagrin of his mother. She wasn't the combat type, but she fell in love with his father after he'd risked his life to save her from a large pack of Ursae who had slaughtered her safari group in Forever Fall forest. Recently, his father had even begun training him in the combat arts, hoping he might one day follow in his footsteps. Leon had the build for it, as he often helped with work around the house and sometimes out in Vale.

Despite the experiences he'd had with Father, this creature was completely alien to him. Never had he heard of a Grimm monster with the shape of a human. He could tell by the somber look on my father's face, however, that he had an idea of what this thing was. He gave a low, heavy sigh and brought up his left hand to stroke his mustache as he often did when contemplating and planning. A few seconds passed before he growled, "Thrice-cursed parasite. Supposed to be extinct, you are. So why did I find you busting my glass door and trying to eat my family? And where's the rest of your accursed colony?"

Unsure of what he was saying and worried by his mention of a colony, Leon mumbled, "Parasite? Father, what is that thing?"

He jumped ever so slightly and turned my way. "Leon! God above, boy, don't startle me after combat."

Leon flinched at the exclamation. Father was normally a wall of composure, so he must have been truly spooked by the encounter. Normally the scolding would put Leon down, but the recent excitement had him holding his ground. Instead of asking again, however, he just looked inquisitively at the dead Grimm.

Catching his gaze, Father sighed again. "Son, you ever heard any old folktales about demons that soar through the air and suck the blood of their prey?"

Now that he mentioned it, the idea did seem faintly familiar. He racked his brain trying to recall it, but it just wasn't coming. Father saw this and decided the situation was too pressing for riddles.

"Sanguinics. Flying, carnivorous filth, thought to have been hunted down and destroyed ages ago. They preyed too much upon the old towns, and became the number one target of Huntsmen and Huntresses everywhere. Entire armies would be called to raze the colonies they found. None have been sighted for centuries. By God, if they're back, this explains the recent string of rural slaughters…"

He trailed off at this, and suddenly a look of horror flashed across his face.

"They never hunted alone. Always with their colony. Always! And never without direction from the archsanguinic…So where are the rest?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, they heard something stomping down the hall. Immediately on edge, Father drew One-Liner and aimed it in the direction of the sound. The shape that turned the corner was no Grimm creature, though. Even in the dim light, Leon immediately recognized his mother. She was clad in her nightgown, and her long, midnight blue hair, which she had given to Leon, was unkempt. Like he'd said, Mother wasn't the combat type, but the fire in her hazel eyes made it seem like she could tear the head off a beowolf.

"What in the name of God happened in here!? It looks like a warzone!"

The answer came in the form of another _thump_.

Only this time, it wasn't just one. It was followed by a rhythmic _thump-thump-thump._ As the sounds got louder, more seemed to join in. _Thumpthumpthump-thumpthumpthump_. After seeing the dead sanguinic, Leon knew it could only mean bad things. He stared desperately at Father, praying that he knew what to do. But the louder the sounds became, the more color drained from his face. Mother caught this and all her anger was replaced by creeping fear.

"Honey…? What…what is that? What's coming?"

His solemn response was to reload the expended round. He then looked Mother in the eyes and said, "I love you, Lucia. I always have and always will."

He then turned his gaze to his son. "Leon, things are about to get bad. Really bad. You need to get your mother to safety….I just hope I can distract them long enough."

Leon couldn't believe what he was hearing. Distract? Father was an honest-to-God Huntsman, a vanquisher of all evil. He was invincible. So why did he look like he already had one foot in the grave?

"You mean defeat, right, Father? You're going to fight them off while I get Mother to a hiding place?"

He knelt in front of his son and embraced him in a way he never had before. Though it was never said, he could feel the finality of it. It was a goodbye.

"No matter what you hear, you don't turn back, and you don't let them touch either of you. I'll try to make enough noise so they don't notice you. But take the sword off the mantle and cut down any who get in your way."

The cacophony was nearly deafening now. Leon realized with a sense of hopelessness that it was the flapping of wings. Possibly _hundreds_ of wings.

"I'll make 'em pay for it. I may fall, but I won't do it quietly. I'll leave a mark they won't forget."

He couldn't even fathom what Father was telling him. Arcturus Ferox, the seasoned warrior, a destroyer of hundreds of Grimm, didn't even believe he would make it out of this fight alive?

"Dad…" Leon barely managed to say the one word. His throat was choked and his vision was becoming blurred by tears.

The hideous orchestra of wings was joined by a chorus of screeches.

"Go, Leon! Go!" No more time for sentimentality.

Galvanized into action, Leon grabbed Mother by her wrist and pulled her along into the living room. There he yanked the short sword off its resting place gave it a few quick twirls to test its weight. Fairly light, made for swift swings and thrusts.

By the time he'd acquired the blade, the screeches had reached the backyard just outside the house. Father waited for them to come to him, though, so he wouldn't get surrounded by the sheer numbers of the horde. Although aware of the dangerous situation, both Leon and his mother paused to watch Father blow away the first trio of sanguinics to burst through the shattered door. He followed up with a fourth blast, as well as a fifth and sixth in rapid succession. Requiring a reload for any more shots, he opted instead to have One-Liner transform into the sword form. With the flick of a switch, the bottom half of the barrel split into segments that floated magnetically in the air until they stacked into a three-foot long blade. The hilt, previously situated in a diagonal angle as the gun handle, turned upward into a straight hilt and elongated slightly. And with an enraged battle cry, he started swinging.

They knew that it was past time to escape, so they quickly flung open the door leading to the basement stairway. In their rush, they took the steps two at a time. There was no door in the basement that led outside, but there were a few small windows. As they approached the nearest one, however, their exodus was halted by the squealing face of a sanguinic. In its bloodlust, it simply busted out the window with its forehead and began to claw its way in like a beowolf into a rabbit's den.

Adrenaline kicking in, Leon leapt forward and shoved the blade of the short sword up into the monster's head from beneath its chin. It was an instant kill, but the victory was short lived. The limp body began slide slowly through the small window, and Leon realized it was being pushed to make room for another. He also heard the other window break, and snapped his head to look at it. Two sanguinics were clawing at each other to force their way in before the other one.

Backing away from the windows, he ordered Mother to get back onto the stairway and positioned himself into a defensive stance, just as Father had taught him. He then calmed his mind, emptying it of all but the threats in front of him. One sanguinic managed to shove its counterpart back and it threw itself into the basement. Without pause, it stumbled forward in an effort to claw at him. Leon sidestepped and slashed at the left of the torso, carving a red line into its flesh. The creature collapsed to the ground, allowing Leon to turn and drive the sword into its back, skewering the left lung. It squealed, and then went silent.

The third sanguinic crawled in through the same window and, unlike its predecessor, it landed on its feet. This one jumped into the air so as to land on top of Leon. In response, he rolled under it and righted himself facing its back. The monster landed, but only succeeded in slashing the concrete floor. As the sanguinic looked down in confusion, Leon stepped forward and thrust his blade into the side of its neck. As he pulled the blade back out, the monster fell with a small jet of blood spurting onto the ground.

By this time, the dead sanguinic blocking the first window had been successfully pushed through, allowing another to force its way inside. This new arrival, upon seeing its three dead brethren, screeched and charged at Leon. It was faster than its allies, and Leon barely had enough time to dive to the side and avoid getting beheaded. As it was, he still sustained a minor cut on his right shoulder. Not an incapacitating wound, but still painful. The sanguinic might have been able to turn and finish the job, but it slipped on the blood that had begun to pool over the floor. The beast's momentum carried it forward and it slammed into the wall. Leon got to his feet and took advantage of his foe's predicament, swinging his sword in an upward diagonal slash that severed both of the creature's right wings. It dropped on its back with a squeal, and Leon brought his blade down into its chest.

Leon stood there for a few seconds, panting heavily. The battle had begun to wear him down, and looking at the windows, he saw that another wave was about to enter behind the first. Leon knew he couldn't hold out for much longer. The basement would soon be overrun.

He yelled at Mother to hurry back upstairs. She complied, but she looked as if she was about to break down from pure terror. He had her go up first and then followed her until the halfway point. There he paused, hoping to fend off the monsters that had crawled inside and congregated at the bottom step. He swung his sword rapidly through the air in front of him in an effort to make the sanguinics stay back. One of them must have been too blinded by bloodlust to be intimidated, for it screeched and leapt at him, its left arm flinging forward in an attempt to gut him. Leon swung again, this time severing the arm of his attacker. He followed up with a front kick to its exposed chest. The creature tumbled back down the stairway and bowled over a good portion of its allies. Before the rest of the invaders got their footing, the Leon had bolted up the steps and slammed the door behind him. He then pushed the nearby chair to block that entrance, at least temporarily. He was sweating profusely, and it was starting to run down his face. He soon realized that it wasn't just the fighting, though. The temperature of the house had risen substantially.

Only then did Leon look to where Father had been fighting, and he saw his silhouette and those of the invading sanguinics still clashing atop a huge pile of dead monsters against a roaring fire. Leon had no idea how _that_ might have started, but at least it seemed to be burning some of the colony.

How stupid he was to be distracted by the flames. Because of his lapse in attention, he didn't notice the pounding on the front door until it was already splintered and folding in the middle. Leon saw that would give way in mere seconds.

Mother was standing only a few feet from it.

"Mom! Get away from—!" That was all he had time to scream before a massive hulk of a sanguinic crashed through the door and fell upon Mother.

Leon's very soul felt like it was thrown into the blaze as he witnessed this hideous behemoth drive its claws into Mother's chest and stomach. Small rivers of blood flowed around its fingers and spilled to the floor. When her eyes widened in shock and she gave a gasp of what wasn't pain, but of sudden numbness, the monster sank its teeth into her neck. Instead of sucking her blood out, as many legends claimed sanguinics did, it simply tore out her throat. If Leon had any reason remaining at the time, he would have thanked God she had already passed before feeling that.

As it was, while his heart wept vehemently for his beloved mother, Leon's mind and body made the flames their own. His vision grew as red as their accursed eyes. With a roar of primal rage, he charged headlong at the beast that was bringing his life to ruins. He leapt on the sanguinic and thrust the blade into its chest. As it was still savoring the taste of his mother's blood, it failed to even take notice of Leon until the sword had pierced through the creature's chest and out its back. It gave a furious screech, but it did not fall. Instead it swatted Leon off with the back of its hand, the spike on it giving him a fairly deep cut on his right cheekbone. The sword stuck fast in its chest and it was wrenched out of his hands. He flew almost ten feet before crashing into the wall and collapsing to the floor. Though he was certain a few ribs were broken, his fury and adrenaline allowed him to ignore most of the pain. Leon immediately stood up, intending to charge at it again, but the sanguinic was faster than he thought a seven-foot-tall beast could possibly have been. Before he could even turn his fiery gaze upon the monster, it raked its claws across Leon's back. He felt a great ripping sensation on his skin, and suddenly the flames in his mind overtook his consciousness. _This_ pain would not be ignored. Leon gave a great cry and collapsed again onto the ground.

He landed facing his father, who had heard his pained yell. And as he bore witness to the mutilated body of Mother and Leon's limp, barely conscious form lying upon the blood-soaked floor, he roared much as his son had. One-Liner had been returned at some time to revolver form, and Father brought it to bear on the massive sanguinic. He let loose a blast right into the center of its mass. The monster almost managed to sidestep it, but the round caught it in one of its left wings. Another screech, and it broke into a dead run toward Father.

At this point, Leon's vision began to black out, and he only caught portions of the ensuing duel. By some unspoken command, the other sanguinics did not interfere. What was left of his mind realized that this must be the archsanguinic. One-Liner was back in sword form now, the segments swiftly flying out and connecting. Leon saw Father duck under a clumsy swipe by the arch. He then stepped forward and slammed his shoulder into its chest, right beside the embedded hilt of the short sword. Leon's vision faded again, and then came back.

Father spun and swung One-Liner in a downward diagonal arc, trying to cleave the arch in half. The arch brought up its right hand, hoping to parry it with its spike. The blade was stopped, but not without nearly severing the spike. The arch snarled and leapt back. As the blade was separated from the spike, it snapped off. Fading. Vision returns.

The arch swiped low at Father's knee, and succeeded in landing a hit. Father's aura must have been depleted by the colony. In retaliation, he brought the hilt of the sword down upon the back of the arch's head. The blow carried so much force, the bony carapace cracked slightly. Fading. Return.

Father landed a great blow on the arch's left side, the blade sinking maybe two inches into its skin. But a far worse wound was inflicted by the arch, who leaned forward and sunk its teeth into Father's right shoulder. With a huge cry of pain, Father slammed his left fist into the arch's face, forcing it to disengage its jaws. But the damage was done. One-Liner dropped to the floor and Father's right arm hung limply. Return.

The archsanguinic gave a triumphant roar and slashed its jagged claws across Father's chest. Father collapsed on his back.

Leon's voice refused to work, so his mind did all the screaming. They'd failed. Father, the invincible Huntsman, now lay on the ground in a pool of not only his blood, but the blood of his loved ones. The pain had subsided and gave way to a near-complete numbness. Leon could feel the end nearing.

The archsanguinic knelt in front of Father and opened his mouth. Even through his static feelings, Leon felt fresh horror at the realization that the sanguinics were going to feast upon their corpses.

But through some act of chance, the archsanguinic was halted before the first taste by the collapse of the kitchen ceiling. The fire had spread and was consuming the whole house. Another section of the ceiling collapsed, flattening about a half dozen sanguinic minions. With another cacophony of screeches, the colony began to flee into the night. Reluctantly, the archsanguinic followed.

Before long the entire colony was gone. The Ferox family was alone in their unstable, burning home. Bleeding out. Leon felt his mind finally giving way, and the very last thing he saw was Father struggling to turn his head in order to look at his son, whispering words that Leon couldn't hear over the roar of the flames. But he knew what they were. "I'm sorry."

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"Hey, Hartman! Look over that-a-way! Smoke, and lots of it, boss!"

Hartman averted his gaze from their cobbled path to see what the peon was making such a fuss over. Sure enough, a towering pillar of smoke and ash was slithering its way toward the nighttime stars. Following the plume down to its source, he saw that it originated from the hill about a mile away. The flickering orange light indicated the presence of a large fire.

Intrigued, Hartman ordered his entourage to halt and deliberated on whether investigating would be worth the lost time. In the end, he decided that there could possibly be a few valuables left in the wake of this blaze.

"Move out, you dogs!" Hartman barked. "Let's go see what in Grimm is going on. And if there's anything left to…liberate."

The woods between the path and their destination were fairly dense, so progress was slow. Giant roots tripped his men underfoot and low-hanging branches constantly slapped them in the face. The closer they got, the more the smoke had them all coughing and hacking. By the time they reached the foot of the hill, the inferno had begun to die down. Only a low crackle remained of the earlier conflagration.

Hartman turned to address his men. "Ok, boys. Listen up! This fire may or may not have been just the product of some accident, but I haven't lived this long taking chances. I want weapons drawn and ready to shoot up a storm at a second's notice! Got it!?"

All replied with affirmative grunts and nods of their heads. And with that, they began to march up the hill.

Upon reaching the apex, all that was visible were the crumpled ruins of what might have once been a decent abode. Now it was only a large pile of ashes, charred wood and a bit of seared brick. Smoke still rose from the ruins, though no longer in gagging amounts. Most of the hill was covered in lush grass, but around the pile laid only blackened dirt. A fine layer of ash covered the grass that remained.

Suddenly, Hartman was alerted to flicker of movement that flashed by in his peripheral vision. His head snapped to it, and found that some...thing had crawled out of the rubble with surprising stealth. At first glance, he'd though it human, but immediately he began to discern other details. Dark gray skin, wings, claws...and Grimm plates. After a second of searching his memory, he realized with a start what it was. And his jaw nearly dropped.

"That can't be_,_" he mumbled to himself. "There's no way that could be a…" He stared with more intensity.

It was, unbelievably, a sanguinic. It was charred and scarred, but definitely a sanguinic.

The beast, attempting to get its bearings, wheeled around and noticed Hartman staring. Instinctively, Hartman then began to reach for his weapon. The sanguinic responded with an ear-piercing screech.

The men who had been trying to catch their breath were scared senseless by the shrill siren. Some desperately covered their ears, while others brought up their weapons. With their fright preventing them from concentrating their fire, several of them opened up on the lone sanguinic.

The monster didn't wait around for the men to get their aim straight. It took a short running start, leapt into the air and flapped its four wings furiously. The men took potshots at its fading form, but none even managed a glancing hit. Before long it was out of sight, most likely scurrying back to the rest of its colony.

_Smart little bloodsucker, it was,_ thought Hartman.

He then turned back to the men. "Well," he yelled at them, "don't just stand there slack-jawed! Start clearing some of this rubble! Grab anything that looks valuable."

They went about their task for a good half hour with no results. It then occurred to Hartman that if it had been a sanguinic attack, the blasted parasites would most likely have swiped anything shiny before they fled the scene. Still, the information that the sanguinics still lived was worth the hike over here. It could do good for the Burrow to capture a few live ones and transport them back. It would be just the exciting twist they'd been searching for. He then made a note of which way the straggler had fled, for that was the likely direction of their colony.

Hartman was about to call off the fruitless looting session when a peon yelled out, "Hartman, sir! We got a body here!"

Having nothing more pressing to attend to, he decided to stride over and check it out. What he saw was too small to be a sanguinic, and with no wings or bony plates on its body. Just four extensive slash marks running across its back.

Hartman nudged the body with the toe of his boot and turned it on its side. It turned out to be a young boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen. Ash and blood covered his body. His filth-slathered hair appeared at first to be black, but then a flashlight beam revealed that it was a midnight blue. His skin was as pale as the surrounding ashes.

Hartman knelt beside the body and pressed his hand to the boy's neck. The faintest of pulses came back.

_The little son of a gun's still kicking, but just barely. Wounds like those would have killed just about any other kid, and he's obviously been lying there for a good while. Must be tough as nails…_

With that thought, an idea came to him. One more twist.

"This kid isn't dead, but that isn't gonna be the case in a short while. Doc! Get your arse over here and patch up his back! We're taking him with us."

The medic didn't dare question Hartman, but the other grunts looked at each other quizzically and mumbled in confusion. The Hartman they knew never was one for charity. Or mercy.

As the medic worked his magic, another peon called out a second human body. A woman this time. A quick investigation revealed she had deep stab wounds and her throat was torn out. Nothing to check there. Hartman noticed she had the same midnight blue hair as the boy. Must've been the mother.

After a couple minutes, one of the grunts guarding the perimeter called out that a squad of police cars was sighted off in the distance. Almost certainly on their way here. The medic announced that the boy was stable enough to move. No reason to stick around and get interrogated, then. Time to go.

"Pack it up, men! Let's bail before the cops show up. Back to the Burrow!"

***Author's Note***

Well, my valued readers! I wish to thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading through the first chapter of my first real story. Hopefully it entertained you enough to keep you coming back. The next chapter will mostly concentrate on plot and character development (my best attempt at it, anyway), but the chapter after will continue with the action I enjoy writing the most. Until next time!

I do not own RWBY. I only claim ownership of the original concepts.


	2. Dark Days

**RWBY: Out of Ashes**

Chapter 2 — Dark Days

Leon's eyes slowly slid open.

Wait, what? His eyes were open? How?

He was lying on his stomach atop a cold, stone slab when he came back into reality. At least, he assumed it was reality. The throbbing pain emanating from his back and chest were real enough. He attempted to push himself up, but the instant he started to strain himself his back erupted into pain and he collapsed back onto the slab. Trying a more careful approach, Leon methodically craned his head left, right and forward in an attempt to get his bearings.

The walls, the floor and the ceiling were all made of a dusty red stone. Some sort of cave, perhaps? What the heck was he doing here? The last thing he remembered was…

The sanguinics. The fire. Mother and Father. It all came flooding back in a torrent of heartbreaking memories. And immediately the flood seeped out of his consciousness and through his eyes. The tears dripped down onto the slab and slid off the sides. He couldn't stop them, nor did he have any desire to. Along with his home, his whole life had just gone up in flames.

Leon had no idea how long he laid there, letting out all of his grief. Eventually, a door at one end of the room swung open with a loud creak and an average-sized man wearing dirty white scrubs stepped in. Leon couldn't discern the majority of the man's features, save his neatly groomed black hair, for his face was covered by a surgical mask. His gait, however, wasn't that of an angry jailer or a sadistic torturer. Leon was overcome with the sudden desire to pelt the man with questions, but he also felt that if the man intended to tell Leon what was going on, he would do so of his own accord. So he kept his mouth shut and his eyes open.

The man finally reached the slab and pulled up a nearby folding chair. After situating himself, he gave Leon's back a look over. Then he spoke.

"Welcome back to the world, young man. You've been out for quite some time. Three days, in fact. Understandable, given the circumstances in which we found you. Can you tell me how you're feeling?"

Given their surroundings, the man's seemingly nurturing tone surprised Leon. He tried to respond, to inform the man of all his current emotions. But he couldn't form the words.

"I…I…"

Fortunately, the man seemed to understand. He nodded and brought out a clipboard and pen.

"I can only imagine. Let's start with something simpler, then. I'm Doctor Owens. Would you like to tell me who you are?"

Leon struggled even to form those thoughts, but eventually he replied, "My name…is Leon…Ferox." He paused, and then continued. "I am…thirteen years old. My father…" He trailed off at his own mentioning of Father. A few more tears flowing down, he pressed on. "My father…was a Huntsman. Arcturus Ferox. We…" Another pause. "We were…attacked…in our home. There was a fire…"

Dr. Owens nodded again while scribbling notes on the clipboard. "Yes, I was there with the team that found the rubble of your home. There were also a few bodies in the carnage. Shaped like humans, but they weren't humans at all."

The image of the hideous beasts instantly flashed across Leon's mind. Never would he forget what they were. "Sanguinics," he spat. His anger began to return. "The monsters invaded our home. Started a fire. And they…" The slightest hope sparked in his heart. "Dr. Owens…did you find anyone else in the rubble? My mother or father?"

But the lowering of his eyebrows instantly dispelled any idea of that. "We never found any human man's body. However…" This time it was he who paused. "…we did find the body of a woman. She had hair like yours." Dr. Owens flinched when he saw the grief reappear on Leon's face. "She was already dead. I know it won't mean much, if anything at all, but I am truly sorry for your loss."

In truth, Leon had already known in his heart that his parents were gone. But it didn't make it hurt any less.

"It's my fault she's dead. My fault! I was supposed to protect her, but I failed! I failed and now they're both gone! My fault…" Leon slipped back into his misery.

Dr. Owens didn't interrupt Leon's sobbing. After a good while, Leon finally ceased. At that moment, Dr. Owens stated, "Well, Leon, I'm going to change the bandages covering your back. Also, we gave you an x-ray exam when we brought you here. You have a couple broken ribs. They'll take a month or two to heal. And I can already tell you that the slash marks on your back are going to leave four large scars." And he went about it. Leon could tell that Dr. Owens was attempting to be careful, but his back still felt like it had a hundred shards of glass sticking out of it. The slightest touch set off a spasm of pain. Once the old bandages were off, Dr. Owens squeezed a salve out of a plastic tube onto Leon's back. It was cold to the touch, but it made almost all of the pain subside. Leon couldn't help the gasp of relief that escaped his mouth. New bandages were placed over the salve and around his torso. With that, Dr. Owens started to leave the room, saying, "You'll be moved from this ward to an actual room once your back allows you to walk. Should be a few days, so sit tight."

Before the doctor walked out of the room, Leon called out to him, "Doctor, wait! Can you tell me where we are, exactly?"

The response left him more confused than before. "Oh yes, I almost forgot. Welcome to the Bloody Burrow."

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After the third day, Leon was up and walking. The pain hadn't yet gone away fully, especially concerning his ribs, but he found it was bearable and very preferable to lying on his stomach for hours upon hours. He'd also been given a tiny room near Dr. Owens' office so that the routine examinations wouldn't be too much of a hassle. The room itself was the epitome of basic, containing only a chair, a little folding table, a single light bulb, and a small cot. The only television was in Dr. Owens' office, and the only channel it got was the news broadcast from Vale. He'd been told multiple times that he was not allowed beyond the hallway in which the rooms were adjacent to. Not that Leon was in the mood for exploration. He still couldn't truly come to terms with the fact that his parents were dead. A good portion of his recovery days were spent weeping on his cot. The sessions seemed to get slightly shorter each time, but the road of grief was a long one.

Dr. Owens let Leon catch up on world events outside the Burrow when the news came on. He almost began weeping again when the reporters showed the rubble of his home and confirmed the death of his mother, Lucia Ferox. They also stated that the bodies of Arcturus and Leon Ferox were missing, but samples of their blood had been found at the scene, and they were presumed dead.

This made Leon curious. "Dr. Owens, why has nobody reported that I'm alive?"

His response was brisk. "My superiors decided it would be best to keep you hidden for now." Leon's question seemed to have unnerved him, and the response unnerved Leon.

To fill the awkward silence that followed, Leon decided to change the subject a little bit. "What about my father? You said you didn't see him in the rubble, and the police didn't find his body. So where is he?"

"I don't know for sure, Leon. The best theory I can come up with is that the sanguinics took his body with them so they could…" He didn't finish the sentence, and Leon had no intention of following that line of thought.

The news reporters also interviewed some Huntsmen and Huntresses who had known his father from work. Some of their lamentations felt like they'd been read from a card, but a few of them, mainly the ones whom he'd met, were genuinely mournful.

But the supposed death of the Ferox family wasn't the biggest news to come from the fire. It was the presence of sanguinic bodies that really got people's blood boiling. Leon was glad he and Father had managed to kill a few so as to leave evidence of what the monsters had done. No longer would they be able to kill in anonymity. And with their murder of a Huntsman and his family, there would undoubtedly be another purge.

Whenever the news wasn't on, Dr. Owens offered to get some books for him to read. Leon refused his offer initially, as he had never been one for reading, but eventually he decided that reading would at least give him something to take his mind off current events. Besides, it wasn't like there was anything else for him to do. Over time, he began to enjoy the stories they told, though he often grimaced at some characters' reactions and feelings toward fighting monsters. Leon had done that himself, and had been permanently scarred from it.

There were many days where Leon thought he could hear voices outside the door. The stone walls muffled them, but it was definitely noticeable. There seemed to be a lot of them, but it was impossible to tell what was going on. At one examination, Leon asked Dr. Owens what the voices were and why this place was called the Bloody Burrow. "You'll see," was his cryptic reply. As he said that, something seemed to flash across Dr. Owens' face. Sadness? Regret? Pity? Whatever it was, it put Leon permanently on edge. He had a feeling nothing good would happen when he recovered.

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Leon's ribs were ship shape after his seventh week at the Burrow. During that time, his grief and sadness had begun to give way to anger. Primarily, anger at the monsters who'd taken his life away, but also at his "rescuers" who had barred him off from the rest of this cave. He felt imprisoned within the red stone walls. What was outside it that was so dangerous? Why did Leon have to heal before he could even know the nature of its existence?

Soon after his recovery, however, Dr. Owens informed him that the superiors had ordered Leon to be brought before them immediately. While he was somewhat unnerved by the name and overall feel of this place, he was also impatient to get some answers. Leon followed Dr. Owens to the rusted iron door that he'd been longing to pass through for weeks. The doctor fumbled with finding the right key for a second, then turned it in the lock and pushed the door open. Leon enthusiastically stepped out.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected to find. A sacrificial altar of some twisted cult? A dazzling city hunkered inside a mountain? A secret military base of some unknown rebel group? Whatever it was that he'd thought he would see, it came nowhere close to the gigantic, underground cavern lit up by dozens of rectangular floodlights bolted into the ceiling. In the center of this cavern sat a massive glass dome about two blocks in diameter encapsulating a wide, sandy terrain marked by both short and tall spires of the familiar red stone jutting out of the ground. A few bushels of dried shrubs also dotted the miniature landscape. As he walked along behind Dr. Owens, Leon eventually noticed what looked like rows upon rows of benches situated around one half of the dome. The half directly across from where they walked, to be precise. And as he took in the benches, he noticed something he never expected after his near isolation. Spectators. Hundreds of people forming an active, excited crowd. Though the crowd was far away, Leon could hear their jumbled cheering. They must have been the source of the noises he'd heard during his recovery. Leon was about to ask Dr. Owens what they were cheering for, when he turned his gaze back to the sand-covered pit. There he saw what appeared to be two humans circling each other. Upon closer inspection, he realized the two were brandishing weapons in a defensive stance. The two continued their circle for ten more seconds before one converged on the other.

And as Leon witnessed the attacker drive a sword straight through the other man's chest as the crowd screamed approval, the terrifying truth dawned on him.

The Bloody Burrow was a gladiator arena.

Leon had heard of this highly illegal concept only in books and movies. While arenas such as this were common in the old kingdoms, modern law had banned them. The only acceptable instance of organized, lethal fighting was having students in combat schools train against creatures of Grimm. His late father, who'd dedicated his life to handling the problems the police could not, had only ever heard distant rumors of something like this. And with all of the clearly present crimes occurring all throughout the city of Vale and its outlying territory – robberies, murders, assaults by organized crime syndicates – attention had always been focused elsewhere. So to be planted right into the heart of an arena was utterly baffling. It also raised the question as to why the "superiors" of this crime center had seen fit to rescue a thirteen-year-old boy with extensive injuries from the ruins of his burned house, lug him all the way back to their arena, and treat his wounds.

And then a frightening thought struck him. He didn't want to believe that anybody could do that to someone who'd been through so much, but it seemed like the only reason why they would go through so much trouble on his account.

He was torn away from contemplation by Dr. Owens, who stated, "Here we are. My superiors are inside."

Leon realized they'd stopped in front of another door, this one made from what he thought was a rich mahogany wood. After his realization, he had lost all desire for answers. He was afraid of what they would be, and what they would mean for him. But he knew he had no choice. He had no idea where the exit to the Burrow could possibly be located, or where the Burrow itself was in relation to Vale. The only way to go was forward.

So Leon nodded at the doctor, who turned the handle on the door and pushed it open. Leon forced himself to walk in before he lost his nerve. Once Leon cleared the threshold, the door was pulled shut behind him.

What first struck Leon was the decor of this room. The walls were still made of the same red stone, but ornate shapes were carved into these walls. Most depicted battles—human against human, human against monster, and monster against monster. In addition to the carvings, many paintings hung against the stone. Once again, they all had the central theme of combat, and all had been crafted with painstaking detail. At the far end of the room sat a large oak desk with a computer and a few stacks of papers neatly piled up to one side. And around the desk were two men. One sat behind the desk, and the other stood to the side. The man in the chair appeared almost regal, clad in silk robes trimmed with fur. Oddly, a laurel wreath sat upon his curly chocolate hair. It seemed to be made of pure gold and inlaid with jewels. He was a little on the pudgy side, which gave Leon the impression of an old kingdom noble.

His counterpart, however, emanated nothing but ferocity. He had the stance of a seasoned warrior and a haggard, stubble-covered face that made it seem like he could strike out and snap your neck in a heartbeat. He was massive, almost seven feet tall and with a bulky build. He was also bald, and had a jagged scar running from just beside his right nostril, through his lips and ending on his chin. He was very intimidating, to say the least.

Whatever conversation they'd been engaged in previously was halted as Leon walked in. He forced himself not to start shaking, breathing deeply in and out. If the conclusion he'd come to was true, he couldn't afford to appear weak in front of them.

The two men eyed him for a few seconds before the pudgy one spoke. "So, Hartman. This is your little rescue child? Took him long enough to heal, didn't it?"

Leon took an instant dislike to this man. He'd clearly never had broken ribs before. Most likely, he had been pampered all his life and turned to crime so he could keep his fancy living without much work. That also told Leon that he was most likely going to be very impatient.

At least Leon no longer had to force himself not to quiver. The man's little quip had replaced all nervousness with annoyance.

Hartman, as he was apparently called, opted not to reply in kind, and instead just kept staring at Leon. He wasn't sure what he disliked more—the pudgy man's contempt or this behemoth's piercing gaze.

Eventually, Hartman broke the silence. "So, boy. I assume by now you know what goes on here at the Burrow?" His voice sounded just as Leon had imagined it to be. It was very gruff, but not in a benign way like his Father's had been. Hartman's voice gave Leon the impression that the man was trying to beat him down with it.

Leon lifted his gaze so it was level with Hartman's. It was a difficult feat not to look away, but he managed it. He then replied, "Yes, sir. I saw the end of your last match just a minute ago."

Hartman nodded slowly, as if he was putting all possible machismo into the motion as possible. "Well, then. Perhaps you might have guessed that you aren't a charity case? I brought you here for a reason, boy. The Bloody Burrow has been popular amongst the upper class of each kingdom for many decades now. But lately, Lord Nilloc and I," he gestured to the pudgy man, "have begun to notice a slight decline in attendance. As such, we've decided that these matches need a twist to spark interest again. Seeing you lying still alive in the rubble of your home gave me an idea for that twist. When the news covered the destruction of your home and revealed that your old pops was a Huntsman, I knew my gut hadn't led me wrong."

There was no denying it now. "You want me to fight, don't you?"

Hartman chuckled. "So you aren't just a slab of meat. You can reason a little bit, eh?" Lord Nilloc began snickering with him. "Well, don't go soiling your trousers. You won't be fighting straight away. We're going to train you. And you won't be alone. In the weeks since we picked you up, we went out and gathered other orphans who showed promise. They didn't have the injuries you did, so we kept 'em in the Pit all this time. Course, none of them had a Huntsman for a dad, so we gave 'em a head start in their…conditioning. But now that you're able, the training can begin in earnest."

This news heartened Leon a bit. He wasn't going to have to suffer alone. "So I'll be joining them today, then?"

Hartman gave a small smirk. "That's right, maggot. And after a few days, I promise you that you're gonna think your burning house was heaven compared to the Pit."

The comment was clearly intended to frighten Leon, but it had the opposite effect. Leon balled his hands into fists and stared at Hartman with intensity of a hungry beowolf. "You think that's funny, 'maggot'? You think the death of my family is a _joke_!?"

Lord Nilloc seemed startled by his outburst, like a church pastor would be startled by blasphemy. But Hartman simply chuckled again. "I like your fire, boy. But can you learn to use it when its kill or be killed?" When he didn't receive an answer, Hartman lost his humor. "Well, maggot. Our dear Dr. Owens relayed your little story to us a while ago. You claimed that when the sanguinics were blocking your escape route, you fought them and killed four. And after that you actually charged at the archsanguinic like some sort of psycho." He chuckled. "Sure got a good laugh outta me. But is any of that really true, boy?"

Still gritting his teeth, Leon nodded in reply.

"So, you probably didn't pull that skill outta nowhere, right? You must have some training already under your belt. Probably gonna enroll in Signal once the next year began? Makes my job easier." Suddenly, Lord Nilloc whispered something in Hartman's ear. When the ensuing conversation was finished, Hartman looked back to Leon. "That's all, maggot. I hope you realize I have high expectations for you, which is saying something. If you let me down, you'd better hope it's because you died. Owens! Get him to the Pit!"

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Leon and the doctor had spent a good couple of minutes walking along in complete silence. Leon couldn't help but feel hurt by the fact that this man, who'd been so kind to him these past weeks, had been prepping him for potential slaughter in front of a cheering crowd of bloodthirsty animals in human skin. They continued without a word until Leon simply couldn't take it anymore.

"Why are you working for these criminals? I think you know that what they're doing is wrong, but you haven't lifted a finger to stop it. Maybe just a call to the Vale police, or an anonymous tip to the Huntsmen! That's all it'd take!"

Dr. Owens sighed, and answered, "Leon, my family has served the Nillocs for generations. They've always been kind to us. Granted, it wasn't until the current Nilloc that they turned into a crime syndicate. But it didn't change their support of us. Look, this is the hand I was dealt and I'm not going to throw it all away." At first he spoke to Leon as if all this should have been obvious, but then the doctor cut him some slack. "I know you won't be able to understand. Not yet. But if you were telling the truth about fighting those sanguinics, then trust me when I say that you already have more experience than any of the other 'initiates'. You have what it takes to succeed in here, Leon. You just have to strive for it."

At this point, they'd reached yet another iron door. Dr. Owens flipped through his key ring again and unlocked it. All Leon saw beyond was a very dimly lit tunnel leading down maybe a hundred or so feet to another door.

"Leon…it's going to be really tough at first. But I have faith in you. Find a weapon you're effective with, and master it as best you can. I'm not supposed to tell you this, but Hartman told the other initiates that your father was a Huntsman. He felt you needed an extra challenge down there. This is going to make you a threat to most, and therefore a target. So find yourself some allies. But remember that in the end, you're the only person you can always trust." A touch of sadness now tinged his voice. "Also…if you're ever wounded during training or combat…access to medical treatment depends on Hartman's opinion of your worth. So don't get on his bad side. At least not more than anyone else."

Dr. Owens stuck out his hand. Still uncertain about the doctor's morality but grateful for the advice, Leon hesitantly shook it. "Thank you, doctor…for everything. And don't worry. I didn't survive the sanguinics just to die in some stinking hole." At this, they parted ways. The doctor walked back toward his office, and Leon began his descent into the Pit.

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If his first five minutes in the Pit were any indication, then Leon was going to have an even tougher time in there than he'd thought.

He hadn't taken two steps through the second doorway when something slammed into his back, tackling him to the ground. The arms trying desperately to pin him were human, so this must have been one of the other initiates he'd been warned about. This one was attempting wrap his arm around Leon's neck, hoping to strangle him. Survival instincts kicking in, Leon brought his right elbow up and hammered it into the initiate's side. He was rewarded with a shout of pain, a boy's shout. His grip slackened a bit, but for now it was still holding fast. That soon changed as Leon rained blow after blow into the same spot. At the fifth or sixth strike, the boy finally gave in, releasing him and shuffling away.

Rolling back onto his feet, Leon took a good look at his would-be assassin. The boy looked to be about fourteen, but a few inches shorter and much skinnier than Leon. His pale blonde hair, which was similar to the color of damp hay, was tussled and unkempt. His limbs were fairly thin, but had the vaguest hint of muscle in them. The boy just stood there glaring at Leon with sunken eyes and hugging his right side. Leon knew the boy was in pain, but the look of desperation and anger in his eyes told Leon that he was going to attack again. And so it was that the initiate let loose a high-pitched cry and charged at him. But this time, Leon was more than prepared. Against a more skilled opponent, Leon might have opted for a defensive stance. This youth, however, required only a single massive strike to the chest for the ill-conceived battle to end. As if he had run into a wall, the boy flopped onto his back, gasping for air. Not taking kindly to the unprovoked assault, Leon planted his foot on the initiate's chest and pressed down ever so slightly. A whimper of pain followed the movement.

Assured that the message had been made clear, he eased the pressure off, but kept the foot planted. "I bet you feel pretty stupid, huh?" Leon asked almost casually. "Points for the element of surprise, but it probably wasn't such a bright idea to attack me alone, eh?"

The response came after a coughing laugh. "Not so smart…to assume I'm alone…"

And suddenly two other boys, both almost as well built as Leon, rushed at him from the shadows. They crashed into him like a clamp, and before Leon knew it they had him secured. He struggled, hoping to gain a lucky slip, but it was in vain. Now the ringleader slowly got to his feet, and after a few more coughs, addressed Leon. "I bet you feel pretty stupid, huh?" he mocked. "I'm gonna be blunt: the Burrow is my only shot at glory, and I ain't gonna let you waltz in here and take it for yourself, Huntsman boy." He emphasized his point with a solid punch to Leon's stomach. Leon grunted loudly at the blow. "It's _my_ time!" Another blow, this time to Leon's left cheek. "_Mine!_" A punch to his mouth, cutting his lip. "Got it!?"

Suddenly, Leon flashed back to the extensive pain he endured at the hands of the archsanguinic. He had no intention of ever going through something like that again, especially not at the hands of this runt. As the ringleader brought his arm back for another punch, Leon roared and put all available force into a brutish forward kick. It connected with the ringleader's stomach and sent him sprawling. As his henchmen angrily struggled to keep Leon secured, the ringleader just laid there in the fetal position, clutching his stomach and breathing curses to himself.

Leon was certain the henchmen were going to make him pay for that. He braced himself for the inevitable onslaught of blows, but they never came. What came instead was a _thump_ on the back of the right one's head, followed by his sinking to the ground. Leon could have looked to see who'd done it, but instead decided to bring his newly freed right arm in around to sock the left henchman right in the nose. The impact caused a small crunch, and it was obvious that Leon had broken it. He dropped like a leaf, just like his comrades.

Now that they were out of the way, Leon turned to see his savior. Another boy, but much taller and obviously older than Leon. His hair was jet black and combed back, giving him the appearance of a shady businessman. His face, however, did not match that impression. His emerald eyes had a mischievous gleam and his mouth was currently set in a satisfied smirk. The high cheekbones and pointed chin made him look somewhat like an elf from fantasy books. In his hand he held a splintered wooden baton, which he must have used to strike the henchman with. His other hand reached out to Leon in an offered handshake. Relieved that it wasn't another fist, Leon shook it heartily.

"Thanks for having my back there, man. They really rolled out the red carpet for me, huh?" Leon said to him.

The other boy's reply was almost casual. "Y'know, these pissants pull this crap all the time. Think they're invincible 'cause they outnumber their targets. Well, it was past time someone taught 'em a lesson, and seeing 'em beat ya like that was as good an excuse as any." He turned to glanced at the ringleader, who was still clutching his stomach. "Course, it looks like you might've roughed 'em up good enough yourself. Anyhow, the name's Adrian. Adrian Parnell. And that stupid sod," he pointed to the ringleader, "is Chance Tanner. You must be the Huntsman's kid. Leon, right?"

Leon nodded in response. "Yeah, that'd be me. Didn't realize I was gonna be so popular down here." Looking back at Chance, Leon said, "You said they do this a lot. How long've you guys been down here?"

Adrian thought for a moment. "I'd say about three weeks, give or take. Kinda hard to tell with no clocks or calendars and only one small, barred up window. Most of us have just been scratching marks on the walls with our best guesses at the days."

Well, that didn't bode well. Living like a mole was not an inviting prospect. "Most of us? How many did others these criminals 'recruit'?"

Adrian just sighed in exasperation. "Look, I know you just got here, but I'm not so used to answering questions," he told Leon, "and you seem to have an infinite supply. How about I just show you the rest of the Pit, and hopefully that'll narrow 'em down. It's over this way." Adrian calmly walked over Chance's body in the indicated direction. Rubbing his jaw, Leon stepped on the boy's stomach and got another yelp in response before following.

Adrian led him into another room, one that was much larger than the entry room he'd been ambushed in. But other than the size, the dozen torn-up cots bolted to the walls and the intimidating stalactites looming over the area like malicious daggers, this room was identical to the last. Same rough red walls, same smooth red floor. As to be expected with a near-windowless room, natural light was quite scarce and the only other light source was a small floodlight sitting in a corner with a couple bulbs shattered.

Gathered around the open entrance was a motley group of about seven other boys. They all appeared as if they'd just gone dumpster diving, with filthy clothes that were somewhat torn and grime-slathered faces. It seemed as if Adrian was the only one who bothered to do anything with his hair, as each of the other boys left his shaggy and unkempt like Chance's. Also of note was the fact that not one of them looked noteworthy at all. Rundown appearances aside, they looked like any group you might see walking down the halls of any academy and instantly forget until you see them again at some later time. All manner of expressions played out across their dirty faces: interested, bored, nervous and suspicious. Nobody offered any introductions, however. Nor did Adrian acknowledge any of them. In fact, the others boys themselves seemed to be split into pairs or standing alone. This group wasn't as tightly knit as Leon had initially thought. Just as well, because competing against a large team would undoubtedly been taxing, if not impossible.

So it was that Adrian just strode past the other boys, Leon following close behind. They had stopped beside the cots when Adrian turned and addressed Leon. "Alright, so each Dweller gets a cot and a footlocker for the few possessions they come across. Hartman claimed that we'd be getting some wooden practice weapons when you got here, so maybe tomorrow. Without those, we've just been doing physical exercises that leave us limp as noodles by nighttime."

Adrian paused for breath, giving Leon enough time to ask one question. "Dwellers? That's what we're called? Really?"

Adrian nonchalantly replied, "Yeah, Pit Dwellers. They say the name adds to our mysterious nature, and that breeds a lot of anticipation with the crowd. Whenever Hartman isn't referring to us as 'maggots', that's what he calls us. Nobody else likes it either, but you might as well get used to it. Anyway, Chance isn't gonna lie on the floor all night, so you might wanna stay alert." At this he hopped into his cot and laid down. "I, on the other hand, am gonna get a few winks in. Wake me if someone's tryin' to kill ya again." Adrian then shut his eyes and appeared to have instantly dozed off.

Leon wasn't sure what to think of Adrian. He seemed friendly, and he did possibly save Leon's life. But at the same time he acted as though he didn't have a care in the world. Leon came to the conclusion that Adrian, for whatever reason, wanted to have him as an ally, but would always look out for himself first. It wasn't an ideal situation, but it was preferable to going solo. And Adrian wasn't the only one able to play that game.

At that moment, Leon wanted nothing more than to nod off and get some rest, but he kept Adrian's warning in mind and settled for sitting down on the cot and watching the other boys. Sure enough, Chance and his henchmen stumbled through the entrance and glared hatefully at him and Adrian. But thankfully they did not approach him. Not yet, anyway.

He stayed up for what he thought might have been two hours before he even considered going to sleep. Chance had gotten into his cot, but Leon couldn't be sure if he was really asleep. To check, Leon picked up a nearby red pebble and chucked it over in Chance's direction. It landed with a _CLACK_ by his cot, but Chance didn't show any sign of acknowledgement. Satisfied, Leon collapsed onto his own cot and shut his eyes. He was out within a minute.

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Some training camps used horns or sirens to awaken sleepy recruits. Others blew trumpets or hit buckets with batons. Hartman took it a step further and fired a handgun up into the air multiple times. And that thing was _loud_.

Needless to say, it did its job waking up the Dwellers. As if the gunshots weren't loud enough on their own, the enclosed nature of the pit caused each shot to amplify and echo back. Everyone flew out of their cots as if they'd been poked with a hot branding iron. Hartman sadistically grinned at their terrified shock.

"Did you have a nice nap, maggots!?" he yelled. "I hope so, because I promised to start the training after our final arrival, and I tend to keep my promises!"

If Hartman intended to intimidate Leon with the rude awakening and the high volume of his announcement, then Leon was less than impressed. Neither was Adrian, who just stood there in front of his cot, arms crossed and eyebrows lowered.

"Alright, I want you all to line up side by side in the center, and I want it done five seconds ago!" If Hartman yelled like that all the time, Leon was surprised he never lost his voice.

The other Dwellers scrambled to the center of the room, with Leon and Adrian following close behind.

Everyone was assembled in about fifteen seconds, and once that was done Hartman took the time to glare at each and every one of them individually. Some couldn't hold his gaze and turned their heads away. Many others, however, stared him right back, eye to eye. Leon was no exception. Finally, he spoke. "By now you all should know what it is that goes on here in the Bloody Burrow. We hire gladiators to fight beasts and each other for the entertainment of the masses. Yes, in society this is very much illegal. No, we do not care. The nearest city, Vale, is many, many miles away, and we are well hidden besides. Our audience is composed of only those who we know would never rat us out. Our operations here should never be interrupted." The implication was clear that nobody we knew would know we were here. This place was all we had left. "So what part do you play in all of this? Our current gladiators have shown a decent amount of skill and have provided a decent amount of entertainment. But here at the Burrow, we don't settle for decent. We look at all of you and see untouched lumps of clay. Lumps we can mold into the greatest gladiators of our time. But this life is undeniably dangerous. If you are to survive, you must train constantly, every hour of every day until you are ready to enter the arena. That training will begin today. Right now, in fact. Before we begin combat training, however, I need to know how much you can take. It is time for your first endurance test."

Leon most definitely did not like the sound of that. He was about to say so when he noticed the men with wooden batons standing behind each Dweller. Suddenly apprehensive, Leon turned his head behind him to discern if one was standing behind him as well. Indeed there was, and the man rewarded Leon's awareness by striking him in his back with the baton. The man didn't hold back, and the blow hit with enough force to send Leon sprawling on the floor. As his face hit the ground, Leon saw Adrian gawking at him, his face a mix of astonishment and fear. That look was soon replaced with pain as Adrian and all the other Dwellers were struck in a similar fashion. And once they were all on the floor, the beating continued. Each of the men wailed on the Dwellers, striking them in the arms, legs, back, chest and sometimes the face. Leon attempted to pull his arms over his head, but the man grabbed them, pulled them away and smashed him in the face again. A very tiny voice in the back of his mind told him to fight back, but that voice was drowned out by the _thunk_ of the baton that signaled another eruption of pain. But another voice commanded him to not give in, to stay in it no matter what they threw at him. So Leon gritted his teeth and soldiered through the onslaught. Suddenly, as had happened in his skirmish with Chance, memories of that night boiled into the forefront of his thoughts. Growling fiercely, Leon actually managed to throw a wild punch that hit the man square in the mouth. The man yelled in surprise and pain as his head whipped back. Before Leon could use the distraction, however, the man wiped the blood from his lip and continued his attack, now furious at Leon's insubordination. Leon's anger was once again suppressed by pain.

The room echoed with the cries of the Dwellers for a good two minutes before Hartman barked at them to stop. Leon simply laid there for another minute trying to shut out the pain and not black out. Once he was fairly sure that could be accomplished, he wiped the blood out of his left eye. Looking around, he saw Adrian flung out much like he was. His face had understandably lost its mischievous gleam, replaced by bruises and cuts. Leon could only guess that he looked similar. A few of the other Dwellers were moaning and whimpering, but most were lying still. Surprisingly, Chance wasn't knocked out. Instead, he was groaning and clutching a spot underneath his right eye. A bit of blood was dripping from under his hands and onto the floor.

It was then that Hartman gave another order. "Anyone still conscious stand up now!"

Leon wanted nothing more than to just continue lying on the ground out of both pain and spite. But if this was a test of endurance, then staying conscious would mean nothing without exerting the will to simply stand up. So Leon rolled himself onto his stomach, pressed his hands against the floor and pushed with all he had left in his battered body. And just like that, he was the first one up. Hartman glanced at him, but his cold facial features were a wall that revealed nothing of his thought process. Trailing by a few seconds was Chance, then Adrian, and two other Dwellers after him. And that was it. Nobody on the ground was even stirring.

Now Hartman began clapping slowly with an evil grin on his face. "Congratulations, maggots! You five have just proven to me that you have either the physical conditioning or the extreme willpower required to be superior to the other Dwellers." The grin vanished and was replaced with his normal look of indifference. "Now, then. As a reward for passing this endurance test, you five get to check in with Dr. Owens and have him patch you up a bit. Dismissed!" It took the Dwellers' cloudy minds a moment to process what Hartman had said, which elicited another growl from him. "Well, you all know where the stairs are! Get to it before I change my mind!"

Now they began limping toward the stairway entrance. One of the Dwellers stumbled and fell, and it took a few seconds for him to get back up. Soon Leon lost his footing as well, and almost hit the floor before something caught him and hauled him back up. Turning around, he saw it was Adrian. "C'mon, now. Up ya go." Now Adrian began to collapse Leon's way, but he pushed back so that they were supporting each other.

Before they entered the ramp room, Leon heard Hartman chastise one of the peons. "No, idiot! Leave the rest where they are. They failed the test. So they'll recover on their own or they'll die."

As they trudged their way up to the top of the ramp, the door opened and they saw that Dr. Owens was waiting for them. He noticed Leon in the crowd and gave him an almost imperceptible smile. "Alright, Dwellers. Follow me to the medical ward, and take it easy."

As they made for the doctor's office, Hartman's words finally hit Leon. The knowledge that he might be part of the superior crowd lifted his spirits. _Perhaps,_ Leon thought, _I can make a life for myself in here. Maybe there's hope yet._

Then Adrian said to him, "No…sweat, right? Ya think…think it might be uphill from here?"

And Leon replied, "Y'know…I don't think so. But I do think that…no matter what they put in our way, we'll overcome it. This path is all we've got now…and we're gonna see it through to the end."

***Author's Note***

Hello, valued readers. Well, those who didn't ignore this immediately, anyway. Firstly, I want to sincerely thank you for reading the first real story I've ever written. I recognize that this chapter might be a bit more boring than the first chapter, and that during this chapter the story feels less like it belongs in the world of RWBY. This was just my attempt at plot/character development. I promise you that the next chapter fixes both problems, though. I hope you continue to give this story your time, as it is very much appreciated!


	3. A Dangerous Game

**RWBY: Out of Ashes**

Chapter 3 — A Dangerous Game

The barred metal gate must have been of very high quality, because the beasts it contained were thrashing against it with ferocity Leon had never encountered before, even in creatures of Grimm. All the Dwellers knew that Hartman starved the arena beasts before matches, and now it was clear why. Monsters crazed with hunger would be much more exciting, as well as dangerous, opponents than those who killed only due to their dark, primal instincts.

And that was what Leon and Adrian were facing now. Hartman had neglected to inform them which Grimm creatures were waiting behind the gate, but Leon was familiar with their deep, rumbling roars.

Turning to Adrian, he relayed his conclusion. "Gotta be ursae. The growls are too low-pitched to be beowolves. Not sure how many."

Adrian nodded in agreement. "Right then, we gotta stay away from their claws. Those suckers'll make mincemeat out of us."

Just as the words left his mouth, a different, louder voice blasted through the large speakers situated above the viewer benches. "Well, well, well, generous sponsors and valued spectators! It's that time again! Time for another Bloody Burrow Brawl!" At the announcer's trademark proclamation, the audience erupted into excited cheers. After letting them die down a bit, the announcer continued. "You've been watching the Dwellers cut down foe after foe for over four years now! And none have fought so hard as our two stars, Adrian Parnell and Leon Ferox!"

More cheers. Leon knew that most gladiators, the other Dwellers included, loved that sound more than any other. It empowered them, made them feel ten feet tall. It made them feel invincible. When Leon heard it, he only felt disgusted. He could almost forgive the spectators for paying to see full grown adults fight beasts to the death, but now a bunch of teenagers had become one of the most popular attractions here. As far as he was concerned, these people were no better than the Grimm.

Now the announcer continued once again, "Up to now, these two have carved a bloody swath into any obstacle we've put in their way, but the time has finally come to see if they can truly survive in the face of overwhelming odds! Today, they will have to face their greatest challenge yet! As you all have watched, these beasts have maimed, chewed and torn apart gladiator after gladiator! Will the two Dwellers before you be able to put an end to their slaughter? Whether they can or not, you all are certainly in for a show tonight!"

This proclamation was followed by cheers, as well as the sound of groaning metal. The sound that announced the impending release of the Grimm beasts from their cage. Adrian unsheathed his short sword and Leon brandished his greataxe. Leon was proficient with the sword, but he'd found at the start of weapons training that he was far more suited to humanity's favored decapitation tool. As opposed to the one-handed axes, his greataxe required two hands for the devastating strikes it was capable of. And he'd grown enough in the past three and half years to have the necessary build. He was even with Adrian in height, despite the fact that Adrian was seventeen, and had more muscle mass. During their time in the Pit, Adrian often socialized with the other Dwellers because, as he put it, "It never hurt to have more allies." Leon was content to let him handle alliances while he concentrated on combat training. Every minute Adrian spent with other Dwellers was a minute he spent exercising or tearing through training dummies.

The training certainly paid off in the heat of battle. The greataxe is quite a heavy weapon to most, but Leon was capable of swinging it with the ease of a child swinging a stick. Of course, most children couldn't match the precision that Leon utilizes in his strikes. And despite his bulk, he's made sure he can employ a respectable amount of speed, poise and reactivity.

Leon learned the importance of this conditioning from gladiator matches where one combatant was massive and wields a weapon with great power, whilst the opponent was of smaller frame but moved with the speed and grace of a feline predator. The brute's attacks were so slow and telegraphed that they never landed. The smaller, more agile opponent landed many smaller strikes that degraded the brute's performance over time, much to the crowd's amusement. The massive, lumbering brute was brought to his knees and executed. Leon made sure he never followed the path of the brutes.

So it was that when he faced opponents like Chance during training fights down in the Pit, they were never able to use Leon's size against him, and he was still able to deal massive amounts of damage with single strikes. To that day, Leon had not lost a fight in the Pit. Still, fighting Grimm in the arena was a different level altogether. Leon always won in the end, but sometimes he took hits and walked out of the arena with a new scar to call his own. And each scar carried lessons he took to heart. Five other Dwellers hadn't been as lucky or skilled as Leon, and had lost their lives in the arena. None had gone down without a spectacular fight, however. The applause was always so thunderous that it shook Leon to the core. Every cheer lowered his faith in humanity. And his value of human life. Eventually, he agreed to fight people in deathmatches. The first few victories left him with a sinking feeling in his gut, but it wasn't long before he cut his foes down without pity, without mercy, and without regret.

Now, as the two Dwellers formed their stances, the gate began to slowly slide upward, trailing a bit of sand as they went. The instant they cleared the ground, multiple paws began clawing desperately into the sand. The rumbles grew louder and wilder with each passing second. Once the gate was halfway up, two heads poked out of the dark; ursae, just as Leon had predicted. They snarled at the two boys as their mouths foamed and salivated in hunger. And as the gate reached the third quarter mark up, nine ursae piled out of the cage. Their roars were deafening, especially that of the ursa major who shoved its way to the front of the sleuth. The major fixed its crimson gaze upon the two gladiators and broke into a dead charge toward them, with the rest following close behind.

The spectacle in front of them would be enough to make most men, save for Huntsmen, weak in the knees. The jumbled masses of the ursae formed a dark wall of fur, claws and teeth. One that was bowling its way toward them. A plethora of scenarios ran through Leon's mind in the few seconds he had, most ending in their demise. One scenario, however, presented the possibility of survival, and he knew it was the right call.

Deciding on that course of action, he turned to Adrian and said, "We have to break the wall. Spread them out and take them down one at a time. Divide and conquer."

Adrian thought for a split second, and then nodded in agreement. "Sounds good. Let's start with the ones to the left of the major. And we save the big one for last!"

The ursae were only a few dozen meters away now, and closing fast. Tightening his grip on his trusty axe, Leon roared a mighty battle cry and charged headlong toward the monsters, Adrian only a step behind.

The first thing that ran through Leon's mind was that this plan, even though it was definitely their best bet for getting out alive, was insane. There were only two of them, and a great many of them. If he made the most microscopic of missteps, he'd be absolutely shredded. He'd been told ever since he'd unlocked his aura that it was strong and plentiful, but he doubted it could withstand nine different ursae all attempting to fit him down their gullets.

Of course, it was too late now. The plan was already in action, and the only way was forward. And up. As Leon closed in on the beasts, he faced the ursa directly to the left of the major, and leapt with all his might onto its back. The plan had been to leap off, turn around and take the unlucky ursa out of the fight, but the major turned and did his work for him. The very second after Leon threw himself off the smaller monster, the major drove its massive claws into its back, penetrating possibly a foot into the body. The fact that its claws didn't find their intended mark didn't seem to faze the major, for it raked the claws of its other paw across the smaller ursa's side. As Leon hit the sand, the major finished by clamping its jaws around its victim's neck, killing it. Only then did it realize that Leon hadn't been caught in its gruesome melee and let the other body fall limp. Ironically, the beasts' ravenous hunger had worked to their advantage.

During the entire scene, Adrian had slid underneath the ursa on the right of the one that Leon had charged. As he cleared the beast's underbelly, he slashed his blade across its right hind leg, causing it to roar in pain. It began to turn to exact its revenge, but its wound caused it to stagger and fall. Adrian bounded forward, thrusting the short sword into its eye socket and skewering the brain. That left the two with seven foes to contend with.

The third on the major's right flank turned and noticed its perished brethren. More importantly, it noticed a potential meal in Adrian. The beast stood up on two legs and brought back its left arm, preparing to swipe at Adrian. But Leon was having none of it. He sprinted forward and hopped onto the back of the fallen ursa and sprung off of it, swinging his axe in a mighty arc and cleaving straight through the monster's right ribcage and out its back. Following the axe was a sizable spurt of red that dampened Leon's right arm. The beast staggered backward and let loose a howl. Adrian dashed forward and thrust his sword into its chest, piercing the heart and causing it to collapse onto its back, before rolling off of the corpse and landing on his feet in the sand. The two gladiators put a bit of distance between them and the beasts in order to assess the situation again.

By now the two could hear the cheers reverberating throughout the arena. The audience was already thrilled at the sight of a couple of youths carving their way through a challenge that seasoned men had fallen prey to. Taking advantage of the lull in the combat, Adrian gave his most confident, winning smile and waved at the spectators, who responded with renewed cheering.

Annoyed at his distraction, Leon nudged him in the side with his elbow. "Unless you're trying to blind the ursae with the flash of your teeth, this isn't helping us win."

Without breaking his façade, Adrian replied, "Hey, you want our peers to snore at the sight of ya, I'm not stopping you. But one of us has to make our image, and I gotta pick up your slack in that department."

Not fazed by his teasing remark, Leon retorted in kind. "Fair enough. I always have to pick up _your_ slack in combat anyhow, so it evens out."

Adrian snickered in response, and then turned his attention back to the ursae who were beginning to close back in on them. "Alright, alright. Guess it's serious time now, huh? You can take point. Who knows, you get a couple _more_ scars and you might actually look cool. Maybe."

Leon sighed in exasperation, and then brandished his axe.

The two sprinted toward their fourth enemy. Once they were within range, the ursa tried to swing its right arm at Adrian, but he stopped its strike by stabbing its paw with his sword and pushing forward. This created an opening for Leon to drive his axe up into the bottom of the ursa's jaw. Leon felt the beast's bony head plate crack and give way against his axe. The ursa simply dropped with its head split into halves.

The fifth and sixth ursae charged at them from the other side of the major, who was currently growling menacingly at the seventh and eighth. As far as Leon could tell, it was informing them not-to-kindly to back off of its prey. Whether or not that was indeed the case, the pair kept the major busy long enough for the Dwellers to deal with the two ursae in front of them. The sixth ursa was nearer to Adrian, so he was the target of its crunching jaws. The ursa attempted to clamp down on Adrian's leg, but he deftly spun out of the way and swung his sword as he did so. The blade sliced through the ursa's left frontal leg, severing the limb and causing its previous owner to roar in pain. It did not fall as Adrian expected it to, however, but instead the monster turned, stood on its hind legs, and clawed at him. The unforeseen strike slammed into Adrian's chest, sending him flying backward. He landed with a thud in a shower of red sand. He managed to get his footing relatively quickly, so Leon assumed his aura had blocked the worst of the impact.

Leon began moving to assist him, but the other ursa barreled into him in the brief time he'd been distracted and Leon barely managed to hold it at bay. Leon had stopped its paws with the handle of his axe, using as much strength as he could muster to push it back. But it continued to snap at him and exert more force against him, inching closer and closer to his face. Knowing he had only a few more seconds before his strength failed him, he channeled a bit of his own aura to give him the extra boost needed to shove the ursa away. The creature toppled backward, and Leon took advantage of his foe's loss of balance to jump to his feet and send a few strikes its way. His axe carved three deep gashes in its stomach, but it took five more seconds of the ursa slashing vainly at him before it finally succumbed to blood loss and perished.

Now that he had a moment, Leon turned to help Adrian. But he didn't seem to need it. As the sixth ursa hobbled awkwardly toward Adrian, driven by hunger alone, he bent down to grab a fistful of the plentiful reddish sand. Once the ursa was within range, Adrian threw the sand into the beast's face, temporarily blinding it. Unable to see Adrian, the ursa once again rose up on its hind legs and swung wildly at him and missed by a mile. Taking advantage of his foe's predicament, Adrian sprinted behind the monster, turned his sword so that he held it in a reversed grip, and then rammed it into the back of the ursa's neck. As the beast howled in agony, Adrian drove the blade down its back. The massive wound erupted in a fountain of blood. The beast collapsed forward, and Adrian grabbed the bottom of its jaw and slit its throat for good measure.

Leon glanced over at the major, who was still leering at the other two ursae. Those two were growling right back, acting surprisingly defiant in the face of starvation. The gargantuan fleabag looked ready to shred its underlings to bits at the slightest provocation. Suddenly, Leon had a flash of inspiration. He strode over to the corpse of the ursa Adrian had slain and picked up its severed arm off the ground. Winding his arm back and centering his aim, he gave the arm a mighty hurl. Adrian saw where the arm was heading and chuckled. It flipped a few times through the air and slammed right into the crazed ursa major's head. Just as Leon had predicted, this sent the beast into a frenzy. Despite their previous aggression, the two minor ursae could do nothing to defend themselves against the raging monster, and they were torn to shreds by the major's claws. The sand became littered with limbs, fur and small rivers of crimson.

And just like that, Leon and Adrian, both covered in Grimm blood, were left only to face the big one. The audience, who had been on the edge of their seats during the last few skirmishes, suddenly burst into more cheering. Leon couldn't tell if they were excited after the last two close calls or if they could sense the big fight coming up. He decided it was probably both.

"Hey, Adrian." Leon got his attention. "Remember how the smaller gladiators beat the big brutes? They dodged the slow attacks, made small hits, and backed off before the brutes could react. If we stick to that tactic, this should be a cinch." Of course, this was easier said than done.

Adrian nodded, but Leon could tell he was nervous. Truth be told, so was he. This ursa major was _big_. Even compared to other majors he'd seen. And it looked like it would tear its way through a mountain to devour them. But he had to get his nerves under control, else he make a costly, fatal mistake.

So he took a few breaths. He convinced himself that they could do this. _He_ could do this. He channeled all his hatred for the Grimm, the monsters who took his old life from him. He would use this new life to pay them back.

The ursa major roared and began barreling toward them. Its massive feet kicked up a storm of red sand in its wake.

Leon roared in response and charged out to meet it. Adrian was right next to him. And the two forces collided.

The two Dwellers were right next to each other, so the major didn't have to choose which to strike first. It simply swiped its gigantic paw in a wide arc in front of it. Leon and Adrian had been expecting a move such as that, however, and both rolled under its arm, with Leon going right and Adrian to the left. Adrian slashed at the major's right knee, while Leon swung his axe upward in an attempt to sever its left arm. Both strikes found their mark, but had a far less incapacitating effect than they'd hoped. The hit from Adrian's sword carved nearly a six-inch cut into the leg, but considering the actual size of the leg, that wasn't such a deep wound. The axe had more success in cleaving through the thick hide of the ursa major, but didn't manage to take out the whole limb.

Both Dwellers landed upright behind the major, but the major was miraculously faster than its slain underlings and turned to meet them before they could follow up on the attack. The major slashed at them in a downward motion, and Adrian hopped backward while Leon stepped forward and moved into his most stalwart stance. The then raised his axe in order to block the strike with its hilt. The major's paw impacted, and Leon was pushed back about four feet. His feet made skid marks in the red sand, but he never staggered.

Leon's block created an opening for Adrian to lunge forward and slash his blade across the left side of the major's hideous face. The monster roared, but otherwise gave no indication of pain or that the wound had any effect at all. It simply averted its attention from Leon to Adrian and slapped him with the back of its left arm. Adrian had no time to dodge after his attack and took the hit in full. He was sent flying with a yell of pain and landed in a heap five meters away before rolling another two. The burst of red sand looked ominously like blood. Luckily, that fate was avoided as what must have been the last of Adrian's aura absorbed the blow.

A part of Leon knew he should have followed his own advice and backed away. But seeing his friend slapped to the side like a buzzing pest boiled his consciousness with anger, and he decided to press on in the hopes of finishing this monster. With the major's paw still pressing down on the hilt, Leon once again channeled his aura into a mighty shove that sent the ursa's arm to the side. He actually managed to make the beast stumble a bit. Just enough to bring the greataxe in a sweeping arc in front of him. The axe sheared a great diagonal gap in the beast's chest, from its right shoulder to its left hip. The axe blade came out soaked in blood, and a lot of it splattered onto the sand.

Such a wound would have instantly killed most foes, but it was now blatantly obvious that this hunger-crazed ursa major was not most foes. Unbelievably, the ursa stayed upright. In response to the blow it had received, it opened its jaw and lunged at Leon with a horrid snarl. Leon desperately attempted to backpedal away from the salivating maw, but the beast was faster. A yell was ripped out of Leon as the jaws clamped around his waist and raised him into the air. His aura was barely holding the teeth away from his skin, but that wasn't going to last long against the force that was being pressed upon him. Leon quickly shifted his grip on the axe so that he held it near the blade. He then raised it up and brought it down into the side of the ursa's neck. In the position Leon was in, he couldn't put enough force into the strike to sink the axe in deep. But Leon was beyond fortunate at that moment, as it was enough to make the major release him from its near-fatal crunch. That release, however, meant being thrown into a nearby rock pillar with such force that the rock cracked like a bird hitting a car windshield. Leon collapsed onto the ground and scrambled back up, trying his best to ignore the pain of the recent debacle. His fortune seemed run out at that moment, though, because the ursa was on him in an instant with a sideswipe that hit with the force of a battering ram. Leon was thrown aside once again, but this time he managed to land on his feet after a few quick rolls.

Leon's aura, strong and plentiful as it was, had nearly been depleted. He doubted he had enough to save himself from another hit like the ones he'd taken. But there was one more way he could use the last of it.

Adrian had struggled back to his feet by this point, and Leon made eye contact with him. He then raised his left hand and clenched it into a fist. Adrian understood what he was going to do and nodded. Leon needed a few seconds to gather the final dregs of his aura, and Adrian was going to buy them.

So he pulled back his arm, angled his blade, and launched it forward in multiple spins through the dusty air. The throw was masterful, and sunk to the hilt into the major's thigh. It must have damaged the nerves as well, for the leg went limp and the beast stumbled. Once again, it gave a roar of pain, but still kept its focus on Leon, who was still standing defiantly in the open with his left fist clenched. The time the ursa had lost hobbling toward him, however, had given Leon enough time.

So much aura had been centered around his left fist that a little bit discharged into the air. And as the ursa major began to close the distance between them, Leon dashed forward, drew back his arm and swung his fist in an uppercut strike that slammed into the beast's jaw.

What followed was an explosion of aura that carried enough force to launch the beast into the air and send it into a couple of back flips. After a few seconds, it landed with a _THUD_ in the red sand and laid there limply.

The crowd, which had been eerily silent with anticipation, erupted once again into cheers.

After taking a moment to catch his breath, Leon walked over to the monster to inspect his handiwork. Based on its heaving chest and low moans, the ursa was obviously still alive. When Leon caught sight of its head, he saw that his strike had broken its jaw. It hung open in a rather amusing way. It seemed as if the pain had finally settled in, or that the blow had given it a concussion. Perhaps it was both. Either way, the ursa major didn't seem intent on attacking him. It simply gazed off into the distance, unaware of his presence.

Leon didn't intend to wait for it to recover. So he gripped his axe tightly with both hands and brought it back behind his head. And he heaved it downward in an executioner's chop.

It hit the ursa's neck with a wet but satisfying noise. The axe blade went right through and impacted with the ground beneath. The head dropped away from the body while both of the severed ends gushed crimson blood.

At last, the beast was dead. The match was over. And the cheers were deafening.

He turned to see Adrian a short distance away, grinning from ear to ear. Leon grinned right back at him.

His grin disappeared when he looked behind Adrian at the rock pillar ten feet away. At one last ursa, covered in bloody wounds. The one they'd thought had been slain first by the major. Charging right at Adrian.

Adrian was completely unaware, and his sword was still planted in the ursa major's leg. And his aura couldn't protect him anymore.

So Leon did the one thing he could think of in that instant. He broke into a dead run toward Adrian, determined to get to him before the beast.

Leon did reach Adrian first, but the beast was only seconds away. So Leon shoved Adrian to the right, out of harm's way. But now Leon was in the path of the charging monster. He tried to swing his axe at it, but he was out of time.

The ursa brought up its clawed paw and slashed, carving three gashes in the lower left of Leon's jaw. His head whipped back and he collapsed on his back.

Leon's vision went red from the subsequent pain that shot through him. He tried to drag himself away from the beast, but the pain seemed to have immobilized him. So he simply lay there, his breathing rapid.

_Was this really it?_ Leon thought. _After everything I've struggled through, this is what gets me?_

Through his blurred sight, he could see the ursa open his jaw to finish him off. He braced himself for the end, satisfied in the knowledge that at least Adrian would make it out of here.

But the blow never came. Instead, the ursa's head shot to the side and it roared fiercely. Whatever had hit it seemed to have caught its attention, as it turned and walked away from him.

Turning his head, he saw Adrian picking up what he assumed were stones and hurling them at the ursa. The fool hadn't gone for his sword, and now the ursa was between him and his weapon. It wouldn't be long before the beast got him, too.

But as before, Leon wasn't going to be having any of that. His anger, his burning hatred of the Grimm, swelled in his veins. With great effort, he managed to push the pain back and more or less clear his vision. He gave a mighty grunt and rolled onto his stomach. Bracing himself, he then pushed himself onto his feet, grabbing his axe as he did so.

Steeling himself one last time, he charged at the ursa, which was facing away from him and snarling at Adrian. It wasn't until Leon was about five feet away that the ursa noticed the noise behind him and turned its head to discover its source. As soon as it did, Leon roared and swung his axe upward, lopping the beast's head clean off its shoulders. The body stood up for a second longer, and then collapsed as its head hit the ground and rolled away.

Both of the combatants were panting heavily now. Despite his fatigue and his pain, the adrenaline was still running through Leon's veins. Blood still flowing freely down his cheek and jaw, he stepped over to the body of the last ursa and placed his right foot upon its beheaded corpse. Then he thrust his gore-soaked axe into the air and gave one final roar of victory that echoed throughout the massive cavern. Adrian followed suit, raising his sword high above his head and crying out in triumph.

Their shouts were drowned out by the celebration of the crowd. They went absolutely wild over their victory. The screams and cheers lasted for about a minute straight before they began to simmer down.

_What a sight we must be,_ Leon thought. _A couple of strapping young killers, drenched in the blood of our foes._

The announcer, noticeably silent throughout the match, took the opportunity to chime in. "And there you have it, valued audience! They have done it! Just when it seemed the rampage of the ursae would never be halted, these two enter the arena and cut them all down to size! The foes that scores of challengers have met their end against couldn't hope to stand against the wrath of Adrian Parnell and Leon Ferox!" Triumphant music then poured out of the speakers, a heroic tune that helped lift the spirits of the exhausted warriors.

At this the celebration resumed, resounding off the stone walls. This was the one time he could appreciate their cheers, when it was clear the audience was applauding their victory, and by extension their survival. So Leon allowed the sound to rumble through his bones, allowed himself to feel proud of what they accomplished that day.

Because Leon did not fight for the fame. He fought for the thrill of the fight.

And for those who were taken from him four years ago. He knew he could never get them back, but he could damn well fight until he joined them.

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As per usual, the victorious gladiators had their wounds examined and treated by the good Doctor Owens. Adrian had actually had his left shoulder dislocated, and it was popped—painfully—back into place. Other than that and a large collection of bruises, Adrian was good to go.

Leon was a different matter entirely. Foremost among the doctor's concerns were the three rather deep gashes on his jaw. Owens immediately had them sterilized with a stinging solution. Once the blood and sand were cleaned out, the doctor put his aura to work attempting to mend the wounds. After five or so minutes of concentration, Owens managed to heal them enough so that the bleeding ceased, but informed Leon that the gashes would leave scars.

Upon hearing this bit of news, Leon looked over at Adrian and smirked. "You said I might look cooler with some more scars. So what do ya think?"

Adrian chuckled and responded, "Yeah, yeah…now I'd rank you slightly more appealing than a boarbatusk. Grats." He accentuated his remark with a very sarcastic slow clap.

Dr. Owens interjected, cutting off their banter. "Well, boys. Your aura should recharge after a good rest. Now, obviously you can't stay out of combat given the line of work around here. But might I suggest a bit more dodging and less mad cleaving next time?"

Remembering that conversation with Adrian in the arena, Leon smiled a bit. "That's usually the initial plan, doc. But it just never seems to work out in the heat of the moment. Not our style, I suppose."

At this the doctor raised an eyebrow. "Huh. To each their own, I suppose. Just gives me more to do, anyhow."

Soon the final checkup was complete and the two departed the doctor's office. Luckily, they didn't have to trek all the way back to the pit anymore. A little over a year ago the surviving Dwellers had been deemed successful enough to earn their own rooms. Nothing luxurious, but a far cry from the rough cots in the dank, oppressive Pit. Additionally, there were a limited number of rooms to spare, so each room was given to multiple people based on the unofficial teams and companionships they formed. Leon and Adrian ended up bunking with a veteran gladiator of considerable skill and renown.

Silas O'Conner was of a very boisterous nature, even more so than the other two. He spoke with an often jovial brogue accent which was rather pleasing to the ear. Contrarily, he preferred to move around and try to stay out of sight as much as possible while in combat. If his enemies were unlucky enough to fall within his sight, he'd bring out Nightfall, his sleek black greatbow, and drop them with astonishing accuracy. Of course, sometimes foes would manage to get up close and personal, and for those occasions Silas shifted his weapon's form. The two limbs doubled as the blades of twin scimitars, where the grip split into the handles and the string split at the nocking groove, magnetically locking with the back edge of the blades. And when the scimitars came out, he got loud again.

The door of their room flew open, and Silas grew a wide, welcoming grin. "Welcome, welcome lads! Wonderful match, as always with the two of ye! It does me soul proud to think I may have helped ye git where ye are now." He wasn't lying. After the Dwellers graduated from the Pit, any additional training was handled at the whim of other resident fighters. Not every one of them was willing, but Silas and the two Dwellers had hit it off rather well and they swiftly became brothers in arms.

At this time, Leon and Adrian were far too exhausted to respond properly to his cheery greeting. Adrian immediately sat down on his bed with his elbows on his knees. Leon was much less composed and collapsed face-first into his pillow. After a few seconds of heavy sighing, Leon finally replied to Silas in a muffled voice. "Thanks, Silas. Gah, my face hurts like burning bloody Hell…" He barely finished the sentence before he was out. Adrian followed suit about five minutes later, leaving Silas grinning at the young pair of warriors.

"Git some sleep, boys. Ye earned it."

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Something jarred Leon out of his deep slumber.

It wasn't any actual thing that awoke him, nothing tangible. But one does not survive for many years in an environment of perpetual danger, such as a gladiator arena, without developing a very potent sixth sense.

Glancing at the slightly cracked analog clock hanging on the wall, he saw that he'd been asleep for about ten and a half hours. His aura had worked wonders during that time, healing the majority of his bruises and leaving him feeling quite rejuvenated. What it didn't fix, however, was the itch in the back of his mind.

Adrian and Silas were no longer in the room, so Leon was going to have to find them. If Leon's sense was right, as it often was, then those two would most likely have felt something as well. Luckily, there weren't that many places to go in the Burrow, so he could simply ask whoever was around and would hopefully be pointed in the right direction. Leon quickly slipped on the few bits and pieces of plate armor that he wore over his leather tunic and trousers, namely small shoulder paldrons, vambrances over his wrists and greaves covering his shins. Then he grabbed his trusty axe, sheathed it across his back and stepped out into the hallway.

He only made it six steps when a loud _thump_ reached his ears, coincided by the stone floors shaking rather violently. Motes of red dust fell from the ceiling. A shrieking alarm trailed by a few seconds. Then the voice of the arena announcer made a startling declaration, his normally solid voice now desperately trying to hide his fear.

"Calling all fighters! The Burrow is under siege! All fighters to the primary entrance! These foes must be driven back! For the glory of the Bloody Burrow!"

***Author's Note***

Well, well, well, valued reader! Welcome to another author's note! *ahem* Sorry. Anyway, I've gotten the ball rolling again with the action, and I'm hoping to keep it going for awhile. Honestly, I'd completely written the first two chapters and almost finished the third before uploading anything here. Now I've begun the fourth chapter, but I'm not sure when that will be done. I've not given it up, and I don't see that as likely given that I seem to get a spurt of inspiration every time I listen to music. I hope to see you when that time does come, though! Until next time!


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